


catching feelings

by secretsforthelost



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsforthelost/pseuds/secretsforthelost
Summary: Kent needed Jack to know that he was still there. That Kent was still his... friend. Not to mention he’d be showing all his fucking cards if he ended up as “the ex who couldn’t deal with the new boyfriend” trope. Kent needed to go to this party.But before he could reply, Eric let out a heavy sigh.“If I’m bein’ honest, I really don’t wanna be here too much myself. That party...” His giant brown eyes caught Kent’s in a spotlight gaze. “You ever like someone you know you shouldn’t?”(or, the BittyParse Fake-Dating AU you never knew you needed)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this chapter is mostly set-up for what's to come, but soon the fake-dating shenanigans will abound!!
> 
> Also, big TW! This chapter contains a pretty graphic description of a panic attack, based on some of my own experiences. Please exercise caution if that could be a trigger for you. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“Oh god. Oh god you have to help me, man. I seriously don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna bail.”

Kent was pacing nervously in the dank alleyway beside the apartment building he should have been inside 20 minutes ago. Well, 25 minutes ago, but who’s counting. Certainly not Kent. 

Kent was not counting the minutes he had been on the phone with Jeff trying to psych himself up. He wasn’t counting the minutes that he had spent getting super close to pushing the buzzer at the front entrance and then chickening out and walking around the block so it would look slightly less suspicious. And he definitely wasn’t counting how long it had been since Jack had sent the text with the buzzer code to his and Mashkov’s apartment.

Jack and Mashkov. Mashkov and Jack. It still didn’t fit right in Kent’s brain, didn’t sound right when Kent said it out loud. He had to very consciously stop himself from thinking that ‘Kenny and Zimms’ had a much nicer ring to it.

“Kent.” Jeff was talking to him in the same overly-cautious tone that people use to soothe wild animals. “This is going to be fine. You’re going to be okay. It’s what? An hour of your life? Get in, get some shrimp cocktail, get out.”

“Jack doesn’t like shrimp. He used to pretend he was allergic to shellfish.”

“Not the point, Kent.”

Kent pressed his back against the cold, slightly damp concrete of the building, still feeling the tingles of anxiety lingering at the back of his neck. He read online somewhere that it could help to focus on tangible things when you were freaking out. Kent tried to think about his feet on the ground. The sensation of the air pumping in and out of his lungs. He blew out a sigh before replying, “Yeah, I know. I just... can’t believe that Jack’s with Mashkov now, and they’re gonna be living together in their little den of domestic bliss. And I definitely can’t believe I have to rock up to this goddamn house-warming solo.”

“Kent Parson, you are a gem. You are a delight. You are a mother-fucking champ and you are going to rock this party, and then you’re going to go back to your hotel and we’re going to watch Mighty Ducks together on Skype. You just have to walk through that door.”

It always made Kent’s stomach twist a little when Swoops gave him a pep talk, like he was still a scared little rookie who couldn’t handle his shit. Like maybe one day Swoops would get tired of repeating the same words over and over. 

“Okay. Okay. You’re right. I’m fine. I’ll- I’ll talk to you later man.”

Jeff hesitated a second, before replying, “I love you, man. Text me?”

“Yeah. Totally. I’ll talk to you later.” Kent hung up the phone before he could let more insecurity spill out. Jesus Christ, why couldn’t he just act like a normal human being for three seconds? He was Kent Parson. He was the the top-ranked player in the NHL. He had won the Calder, the Art Ross, the Hart, and the goddamn Stanley Cup. He could handle this.

Kent clung to that mantra until he reached the buzzer for the fourth time that evening, and the panic set in again. But before he could take another (completely justified) walk around the block, he felt someone come up beside him.

Kent turned and ended up face-to-face with a kid straight out of Pleasantville – an immaculately pressed blue blazer on top of a pale blue collared shirt; blond hair in an arch that swooped perfectly over his snub-nosed face; a goddamn, bright red bow tie. He was carrying three white cardboard boxes, topped with a little blue gift bag tied with a jaunty ribbon.

It was like... nega-Kent. The version of Kent from the final boss level that could kick your ass but probably also texted his mom every day. This was the kind of guy who brought tasteful, personal gifts to housewarming parties instead of freaking out and ending up with a gift certificate and a re-gifted candle. This was the guy who could press a goddamn buzzer.

“Uhhh... hi.” Kent started lamely. “Are you... is that for Maskov and Zimmermann?”

“Why yes it is! I’m Eric Bittle – friends call me Bitty. I’d shake your hand and introduce myself properly, but as you can see...” He shrugged a little helplessly, still weighed down by the packages.

“Oh, shit! Can I grab one of those for you, or, like, help?”

“Well bless your heart, Mr. Parson. I’d be fine if you could just buzz us in. These aren’t too heavy.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

Peer pressure could truly work wonders. For the first time that evening, Kent was able to enter the buzzer code into the panel without ditching before the last digit. As the discordant buzz sounded and the front door clicked unlocked, Kent grabbed the door to hold it open for Eric. 

Who was this kid? How did he fit into this crowd of hockey jocks? He was tiny and definitely on the younger side, but as Eric walked past Kent could see the sharp cut of his jaw and the fit of his blazer around surprisingly strong-looking biceps. 

Not to mention how his ass looked in those pants. 

Not that Kent was checking out his ass or anything. They were just… nice pants. 

Kent’s brain scrolled through the possibilities. He was Zimms’ type, for sure. Could he be another ex, invited to wallow in Jack’s current happiness? Kent couldn’t quite imagine how Eric would know Mashkov; hell, he probably didn’t even come up to Mashkov’s shoulders - that Russian monster would eat a kid like this for breakfast. 

Fuck it. Just ask him. 

But like… be chill about it. 

“So, how do you know the guys?”

“Oh the Falconers brought me onto the PR department to help with social media. And you know how some of these hockey boys can be - it took me at least 3 weeks to convince Jack to try using a hashtag for once in his life.”

Kent gave a polite chuckle as he felt something tight and hard uncurling in his chest. He shouldn’t have made assumptions about this kid. He seemed perfectly innocent; after all, it wasn’t Eric’s fault that he had been designed with the exact combination of qualities that could press on the bruise of Kent’s insecurities. He was just one of the many guests who were going to have a fun, normal night at this party. 

Maybe Kent could learn a thing or two. 

Eric smiled at him as Kent held the door of the elevator open. Kent tried to mirror the expression, and tried even harder to make himself believe that the smile was real. He was happy for Zimms, he really was. He was happy for Mashkov. Hell, he was happy for Eric, with his blazer and his boxes and his bowtie and his adorable face. 

Kent stretched his smile even wider and pressed the button for the 19th floor. 

\--

The elevator was moving too fast and too slow all at the same time. As Kent watched the light for each subsequent floor flicker on, then off, he seriously contemplated running his hands across the entire panel in hopes of delaying the inevitable.

The prickling across the back of his neck was starting to get worse, working its way down his spine.

Leaning against the back wall of the elevator as nonchalantly as possible was taking up most of Kent’s attention, but he was jarred into the present for a moment when he realized that things were sounding too quiet.

Shit. Eric had been talking. This whole time.

And now he wasn’t talking and he was looking at Kent over the top of the boxes in his arms with concern in his eyes.

Kent reached up a hand to adjust his snapback and crinkled his eyes in the way he knew made him look charmingly sheepish. “Sorry, man. I totally missed that last part.”

The concern didn’t leave Eric’s eyes as he replied, “I was just makin’ some small talk. But you seemed a little out of it. This might not be my place but... Kent, are you okay?”

Kent’s heart was pounding and he could practically feel the blood pumping through his body, pressing against the inside of his skin. Fuck, it couldn’t be happening. Not here, not in front of this kid, not in the fucking elevator of Zimms’ apartment building.

“Yeah, no. I’m- fine.” Kent forced a smile and gasped in a short breath “I’m- good. Just gotta- Just gotta get out of this- this elevator. For a sec.” Kent tensed his chest, his throat, willing himself to stop hyperventilating like an idiot. He could feel a numbness in his legs that warned him that they were ready to buckle.

Miraculously, the light for floor 19 flashed on, and the elevator doors slid open with a ding. Jack had said his apartment was at the end of the hall on the left. Fighting the fog of his vision closing in, Kent brushed past Eric and turned right, walking around the corner as quickly as he could before his legs gave out.

Slumped against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, Kent forced the air in and out of his lungs. Just don’t pass out. Don’t fucking pass out, Kent. You’re not having a fucking heart attack. Pull yourself together.

At the corner of his eye, Kent saw Eric coming around the corner. Fuck, he had to stand up, had to fix this. Kent pushed against the floor with his palms, but his legs weren’t cooperating.

“Sit back down.” Eric said, coming over to kneel by Kent.

“No. No, I’m fine-“ Jesus, when were his legs going to kick back into gear?

Eric looked into Kent’s eyes forcefully, and with more authority than Kent was expecting, said, “Sit.”

Kent could feel his heart pounding, his breaths coming quick and fast, his fingernails digging into his crossed arms. He was going to fucking die in this hallway and the entire housewarming party was going to file out and laugh at his ridiculous corpse.

“Kent.” Eric’s warm voice cut through the chatter in his head for a moment. “You’re fine. You’re safe. Just try and breathe a little deeper for me, honey – from the abdomen.”

With Eric reminding him, Kent could feel how high and tight his breaths were coming. He stopped and took a second to breathe deeper. In. And out.

“Do you mind if I touch you? I just wanna check your pulse.”

“I’m- really fine. I just- just need a minute.” Kent could do this. He could keep it under control. But then he looked up into Eric’s warm brown eyes and saw that he was holding out a hand expectantly.

Wordlessly, Kent unclawed the vise grip he had on his arm and extended it for Eric to feel, still trying to breathe a little deeper. Eric’s hand felt soft as he gently held a few fingers over Kent’s pulse point. He looked at his watch for a moment or two, then looked back to Kent.

“Okay. I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions. What’s your name? Where are we right now? Are you having trouble breathing?”

“You.” Breath. “Know my name.”

Eric’s look of concern shifted to a soft smile for a moment. “Why yes I do, Mr. Parson. But why don’t you tell me anyway.”

Kent’s breath was still coming hard and fast, but breathing deeper meant that he felt a little less like he was about to die. He could feel the world coming onto a slightly more even tilt.

“I’m. Kent Parson. This is-” Breath. “Zimms’ apartment. And.” Another breath. “Obviously yes.”

“It feels to me like you might be having a panic attack. Have you ever had one of these before?”

Kent wanted to lie. He could count the number of people who knew about this one hand, and he had met Eric less than 10 minutes ago. But at this point it was pretty hard to deny it.

“I- sometimes. Yeah.”

“Okay. Good. Just so long as you know you’re not about to die from a heart attack or somethin’ like that. Keep breathing.”

Kent was skeptical. “What are you? Some sort of – PR by day, EMT by night?” The world suddenly shifted a little around him. “Oh fuck, I might pass out.”  
“Nah, sugar. Just feels like it. I used to get these all the time back in high school, after...” Eric paused. “Well, boys in Georgia don’t always take too kindly to the junior boy’s Figure Skating state silver medallist.”

Eric shifted, so he was sitting next to Kent with his back against the wall. They weren’t touching anymore, but Kent could feel the comforting warmth of his presence. It... it helped. He could feel his muscles starting to ease up a little.

Eric continued speaking, filling the silence with quiet chatter. “It definitely helped when I switched over to hockey – but, of course it was a non-contact league. I tried the other kind, but had the tendency to... freeze up? Whenever I got checked. Still, knowin’ about hockey is what got me this job, so I can’t be too mad about it.”

He paused for a moment and turned his head toward Kent. “Try imagining something you like. Or a place that makes you feel calm. That can help.”

A new spike of anxiety pierced Kent through his chest. He thought of the swimming with Zimms in the lake up at the cottage. The tree they carved their initials into in the backyard of the Zimmermann house. The practice rink for the Oceanique where they would spent hours shooting their way through buckets of pucks before fooling around in the showers because everyone had already gone home.

This wasn’t quite helping.

“We should get to the party. I’m sure they- they’re waiting for us.” Kent paused to take in another deeper breath. “I’m fine, really.”

“Not just yet, Mr. Parson. Haven’t you heard of being fashionably late? We got all the time in the world. How ‘bout you tell me about that famous kitten of yours instead? I could use some PR tips from a cat who has more Instagram followers than all the Falconers’ social media accounts combined.”

Kent felt a sudden release of tension as his eyebrows unfurrowed. Kit. He could talk about Kit. He wishes she were here now, a little bit, but he knew the next best thing.

As he showed Eric the many pictures and videos of Kit he had on his phone, he could feel his breathing start to even out for real. The post-panic exhaustion was setting in a little bit, but with Eric by his side, there was a... comfort? A sort of nostalgic feeling that soothed him like the matzoh ball soup his mom used to make him when he was sick.

After a couple of minutes, Eric nudged his hand. “Your pulse – can I check it again?”

Kent obligingly held out his hand, and without the panic obscuring his thoughts, he was very (very) aware of Eric’s soft hand around his wrist. They were close enough that Kent could notice the length of his eyelashes, the subtle scent of his cologne.

Kent resisted the surprisingly strong urge to scootch down and nestle his head on Eric’s shoulder. It was definitely his woozy post-panic brain talking.

“Is it... better?”

Eric looked up at him and grinned. “Definitely. Almost back to normal. And wait!”

Eric scrambled up and disappeared around the corner briefly, before reappearing with one of the white cardboard boxes he had been carrying earlier. He flipped open the lip to reveal-

“Small pies?”

“Not just any small pies, Kent Parson. These are my Meemaw’s Apple Pecan Mini Pies. They won first in the Georgia State Fair for baking two years in a row.”

Was it weird for Kent to think that Eric’s eyes were sparkling a little? That was totally a normal thing to think about someone who you met 10 minutes ago and who just talked you through a panic attack down the hall from the party where your ex-slash-true-love was probably making out with his boyfriend.

Shit. The party.

“We should probably bring those into the party, right? Those are for Zimms. And Mashkov I guess.”

Kent hesitated. He didn’t mind just sitting here with Eric. And he wasn’t exactly looking forward to entering the Zimmermann/Mashkov love den for real.

Eric gave a semi-exasperated huff. “Just try one, Kent. I have about two more boxes of sweets for all those hockey boys to gorge themselves on. They won’t notice a pie or two missing.”

He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “They’re real small pies, Kent. Tiny. Miniscule.”

Kent couldn’t resist, for a number of reasons. Some of those reasons were more clearly defined than others, but any quandaries were wiped out by the taste of that fucking pie.

It was so good.

Like, So Good. 

Trying to stop himself from rapturously moaning over a pastry, Kent was a little distracted when Eric asked the next question, hesitantly. Delicately.

“Kent... you just had a panic attack. Is this a party you really want to go to? We could- You could just go home. I’d be happy to make your excuses.”

Kent sighed. This was the out he didn’t want to admit he wanted. He could just go back to the hotel and watch Mighty Ducks. He could empty out the mini bar and forget this whole fucking thing ever happened.

But he couldn’t. He needed Jack to know that he was still there. That Kent was still his... friend. Not to mention he’d be showing all his fucking cards if he ended up as “the ex who couldn’t deal with the new boyfriend” trope.

Kent needed to go to this party.

But before Kent could reply, Eric let out a heavy sigh.

“If I’m bein’ honest, I really don’t wanna be here too much myself. That party...” His giant brown eyes caught Kent’s in a spotlight gaze. “You ever like someone you know you shouldn’t?”

Uh, yup.

“Uhh.... kind of? Who’s got you all tied up in knots?”

A blush spread over his cheeks. “I probably shouldn’t say...”

Kent knocked his knee into Eric’s. “C’mon – if you can’t tell a virtual stranger all your deep dark secrets who can you tell?”

Eric looked skeptical.

“Look, I swear by your Moomaw’s pie – which is fucking delicious by the way – that I’m never gonna tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that.”

Strangely, that seemed to work for the most part. Eric grimaced a little, before leaning in and whispering, “It’s... Tater.”

The gears in Kent’s brain ca-chunked, his thoughts still slow with exhaustion. “Who would name their child after a potato?”

“Oh no! God, no. It’s one of your silly hockey nicknames. Like, you’re Parse, I’m Bitty.”

“Bitty like small?”

Eric paused to give Kent a withering stare. “Bitty like Eric Bittle, Mr. Parson.”

“So who the hell is Tater?”

The blush was back. “Alexei Mashkov?”

Kent felt his stomach drop. Of course it was Mashkov. Why was every fucking person he knew obsessed with Alexei-fucking-Mashkov? He had met the guy at a handful of NHL events and slammed into him more than once on the ice, but it’s not like the sun shone out of his Russian ass. Also what the fuck kind of name was ‘Tater’?

The silent was stretching on too long, and Kent didn’t know what to say next. ‘Funny coincidence, I’m in love with your crush’s boyfriend’ somehow didn’t have the right ring to it.

He decided to go with a classic. “Shit, man. That... sucks.”

Eric leaned his head back against the wall with a thud. “Yeah. I don’t even get it sometimes! I mean, I started working with the Falconers almost a year ago, after I graduated, and Tater was one of the first guys they sat me down with. And he was just so nice, and sweet and he was always complimenting my pies. I-I knew he was gay, and I thought maybe...” His mouth bent into a rueful smile. “Y’know, you can make yourself believe just about anythin’. But then before I knew it, I was working on PR strategies for presenting Jack and Tater as a couple.”

The silence was fragile and crackling with energy. They weren’t touching hands, but Kent could practically feel the connection stretching between them, like a string pulled taut.

Eric took a deep breath and re-arranged his features in an instant. Gone was the regret, and in its place was a smile that was just a little too determined. “It’s fine, though. They’re my friends and they’re happy, which is what matters. I’ll just... it’ll take some time.”

Kent shouldn’t say anything; he knew that. He should sympathize politely and give Eric a friendly pat on the back and go into the party. But the words came spilling out of his mouth:

“I’ve been in love with Jack Zimmermann since I was 15 years old.”

As soon as those words left his lips, he could feel everything tense up again. Kent couldn’t bring himself to look at Bitty, but he heard the soft exhale of an “oh” from beside him. A moment later, he felt the edge of Bitty’s hand pressing against his own.

“What a pair we make, huh?”

Kent snorted a little. “Yeah.”

“We gotta go to this party now, don’t we?” Bitty said, with comical resignation.

Kent sighed. “Yup.”

Eric nudged a little closer to Kent. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m always okay.”

Kent glanced over and saw the skepticism that was clear on Eric’s face, but Eric didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he clambered to his feet and held his hand out to Kent to help him up. Kent’s legs still had a slight rubberiness to them, but as he stood and stretched, he could feel the reality of the world slipping back over him. 

Eric moved to pick up the rest of his boxes from the floor, but before he could get to them, Kent had them in his arms, leaving Bitty with only the small blue bag that had been perched on top to carry. 

“Kent, you know I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own boxes.”

“‘Course I do. I’m just grabbing them to make sure I have first dibs before everyone else can get to them. I already need another fix.”

Eric grinned. “If you insist. Just don’t blame me when St. Martin tackles you to get at the strawberry rhubarb. He can still move pretty quick for a vet.”

There was something reassuring about this banter that made Kent feel more centred as he approached Jack’s door. At least he’d have someone other than Zimms to talk to at this party. He’d give his congrats to the couple, eat some pie, talk with Jack, joke around a little with Eric, and be back to watching Mighty Ducks before he knew it. 

He was settled. He was ready. He could definitely, definitely handle this. 

And then the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! I hope you liked the fic and I promise that there's more to come. Please feel free to comment down below, letting me know what you thought - I'd love to hear it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the party!! The real shenanigans are about to begin, and I hope you enjoy Kent being the Most Oblivious Boy In The World.
> 
> I'd also like to thank all of you who read, and left kudos, and commented!! It's been a little nerve-wracking dipping my toes back into the waters of fic writing, and your support makes me so excited to keep writing. 
> 
> Also, @sinbindos is the best beta a girl could ask for and gives the best google doc commentary. <3

“Little B!! So good to see you! So glad you could come!”

Mashkov had Eric caught up in a massive bear hug, and there was something that balked in the back of Kent’s brain seeing the blush that spread across Eric’s face and the lovelorn look in his eyes. How could Mashkov have possibly missed this? How could he not have been able to tell that Eric was completely gone over him? It was written all over his face. 

Kent knew that face. Kent knew that face way too well. 

Mashkov let Eric go at least 10 seconds later than Kent would have liked and turned his megawatt smile towards Kent. His voice turned sly as he grinned. “And who you get to carry boxes, B? His arms are too skinny to carry all that pie - let me take some off his hands. You make blueberry for me?”

“‘Course I did. I wouldn’t forget your favourite. Got some great one from the farmer’s market; first good batch of the summer!” Eric’s eyes were shining and Kent could hear the excitement in his voice. When Mashkov reached out to affectionately ruffle Eric’s perfectly coiffed hair, Kent’s jaw clenched. 

“Hey Mashkov, good to see you.” Kent said, too casual. “Where should I stick these?”

“Oh, I can take them! Is good to see you too, Kent.” He reached out his arms for the boxes and pinned Kent with jokingly serious look. “And please call me Alexei - we are not on ice today, little rat.” He winked, then dashed off to arrange the contents of the boxes on a table already packed with dishes and platters. 

The party opened up around Kent and Eric as they stood in the entryway. Robinson was sipping from a beer and holding his daughter as St. Martin teased her. Georgia Martin seemed to be in a heated debate with a blonde reporter that Kent remembered seeing in a throng of post-game interviewers, clearly off duty for the night. Other party-goers were mingling and laughing, plates laden with potluck items. 

And there was Jack. 

He had emerged from the kitchen carrying an old cooler, bringing it towards the table where Mashkov was arranging all of Eric’s desserts. He had a new haircut and Kent could see the five o’clock shadow covering a jawline that Kent used to pepper with kisses. 

He looked older. He looked good. 

Kent was deciding whether he should call out, or wave, when Jack put down the cooler and moved towards Mashkov. He rubbed his hands over the man’s broad shoulders affectionately, moving down to his biceps and giving them a playful squeeze. Then he leaned in closer, and whispered something in Mashkov’s ear that made him bark out a loud, ringing laugh. Maskov turned his face towards Jack and it was like a trainwreck. Kent couldn’t look away as their faces drew closer and closer, until they were sharing a casual, affectionate kiss. 

It could only have lasted a couple of seconds but Kent felt like time had frozen around him. His lips were tingling with the phantom touches of all the kisses that Jack had given him and his whole body felt alive with adrenaline, like he had touched the end of a live wire. How had he imagined that he could handle this?

Ready to turn and run the 3 miles back to his hotel room, he suddenly remembered Eric standing next to him. He tore his gaze away from where Jack and Mashkov were still smiling at each other, obviously so wrapped up in whatever they were whispering about that they weren’t noticing anything else. 

Kent wasn’t surprised that Eric was staring at the couple the way Kent had been, but he was a little shocked to see the smile on Eric’s face. If he didn’t know better, he never would have noticed that anything was wrong. It wasn’t until he looked lower, at Eric’s hands tightly clenched around the handle of the gift bag, and how tensely he was holding his shoulders that he could tell that Eric was just as thrown as Kent was. 

“Hey.” Kent reached out a gentle hand, hesitating for just a moment before resting it on Eric’s shoulder. “We can do this, right?”

Eric was still smiling, but his eyebrows furrowed, and then with a sigh his face fell. He closed his eyes for a second before looking up at Kent with a face full of determination “Yes we are, Mr. Parson. We’re gonna get through this party, come hell or high water.”

Almost without thinking, Kent reached an arm around Eric’s shoulder, squeezing him closer. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a fucking drink. And maybe 6 more mini-pies.”

Eric reached his own arm around Kent’s waist, and they… fit. It definitely wasn’t what Kent had expected. But before the moment could get too weird, Eric gave his waist a squeeze, and pulled away, facing Kent with a smirk. “I helped them move in and I’m pretty sure I know where they keep the good stuff. Care to join me?”

Kent felt a real smile spreading across his face, unbidden, for the first time that night. “Hell. Yes.”

What neither of them noticed, as Eric grabbed Kent’s wrist and pulled him towards the kitchen, were Jack and Tater staring after them. 

\--  
“Are you seriously telling me that your favourite drink is a rum and coke? Aren’t you from the south? Shouldn’t you be drinking mint juleps or something?” Kent leaned back against the counter and chirped Eric as he watched the younger man fix himself a drink. 

“Very funny, Parson.” Eric tested his drink with a sip and a wince before pouring a little into the sink and adding more Coke. “It was my daddy’s drink, so there was always some rum in the cabinet growing up. He never minded much if my friends and I snuck a little either, and I guess I got used to it. Want me to make you one?”

Kent suppressed a shudder. “Ugh - can’t handle rum anymore. My rookie year… let’s just say Captain Morgan and I had a falling out.”

Eric laughed and Kent couldn’t help but feel a little pleased. The party was still going on just outside, but the kitchen was comparatively quiet, a place they had all to themselves. Kent was surprised to find himself actually having fun. 

Eric took one more sip of his drink and gave an over-exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, as though daring Kent to chirp him again. “I better go mingle a bit. You should grab and drink and come join me!”

“Yeah, go on. I’ll make myself something that’s actually drinkable.” 

Eric headed into the living room, sticking his tongue out at Kent as he left. Watching him go, Kent realized that while he had been the one to suggest getting a drink, surprisingly, he didn’t really feel like he needed one anymore. Instead, he yanked the refrigerator door open, sticking his head inside to assess the soda situation. 

When Kent heard the door of the kitchen swing open again, he turned back with a can of Sprite in hand, ready to chirp Eric for coming back so soon. 

But it was Jack. 

Jack, with his soft blue eyes and his broad shoulders and his clever half-smile. Jack, who must have known that Kent was in here and who had come to seek him out for once, instead of the other way around. 

And Kent was standing in front of the open fridge in Zimms’ apartment with a Sprite in his hand and six or seven bottles of liquor on the counter next to him. For all intents and purposes, it looked like Kent was hiding out from the rest of the party about to get completely schwasted by himself, using Jack and Mashkov’s private supply of alcohol. Which was just… great; it was fucking wonderful. Excellent call, Kent. 

Still, Kent could salvage this. 

“Hey Zimms. Didja miss me?”

“‘Course, Kenny. It’s great to see you.” Jack stepped a little further into the kitchen, leaning against another section of counter opposite from Kent. “I’m really glad you decided to come. I know it’s a bit out of your way to come all the way to Providence.”

“Hey, no worries. My airmiles have airmiles.” Kent popped the top of his Sprite and poured most of it into one of the red solo cups he snagged from the counter. “And you know how much I love parties.”

Jack hesitated. “...Yeah.” 

He was making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with Kent, to the point where Kent found himself searching for something, anything to do with his hands. He settled for pouring a couple more glugs of vodka than he needed into his cup. 

“Nah, man seriously. It’s kind of fun to see all you guys off the ice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen St. Martin smile before.” Kent took a generous sip of his too-strong drink, able to stave off the wince he knew was coming. As he felt the distractingly sharp heat of the drink down his throat, getting drunk on Jack’s alcohol was starting to feel like a great idea. 

Jack let out a soft exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, Marty’s pretty great. All the guys are. I got pretty lucky, I guess.”

Kent couldn’t help himself. “Lucky with Mashkov too, eh?”

It ached to look at the blush high in Jack’s cheeks and to see the soft grin that had once been saved just for Kent spread over his face. But that was just for a moment, until Jack’s grin turned cheeky. 

“I’m not sure I’m the only one who’s getting lucky, eh, Parse?”

There was something in that Kent couldn’t decipher. He had had a couple of hook-ups in the backrooms of clubs or in his hotel room at away games, but he was baffled as to why Jack would be teasing him like this.

“Oh, yeah?” There was another pause as both Jack and Kent took sips of their drinks. After a while, Jack gave Kent another loaded glance. 

“So how did you and Bitty meet?”

What a non-sequitur. Maybe Jack was already drunk? He definitely used to get a little loopy after just a beer or two. Still, Kent definitely didn’t want to let on that he had spent the last 20 minutes being comforted by Eric in the hallway outside Jack’s apartment. 

“Oh, we just kind of ran into each other. He told me it took him 3 weeks to teach you how to use a hashtag.”

Jack’s grin got wider. “Did he?”

“Yup. He can definitely chirp with the best of ‘em.” Kent wondered how well Jack and Mashkov actually knew Eric, or how much Eric had let himself be known by them. “He’s… he’s a really good person. I’m glad I got to meet him.”

“Good baker, too - everyone loves him but the nutritionists.”

“Great baker.” That gave Kent an idea. “Actually, I should probably run and grab one of those pies before you Falconers hork them back. I saw Robinson eyeing one of the mini apple pies with murder in his eyes.”

Jack nodded in agreement, with the mock-serious face that Kent knew meant that he was joking. “I wouldn’t test him. The kids have been keeping him up all night lately and he’d probably tear you limb from limb for a piece of lattice-work.”

It felt… good, to be joking with Jack like this. To be in on the joke at all, actually. In their perilous journey back to friendship, they had mostly been sticking to safe topics and cat gifs. It was a tentative peace, a degree of normalcy, but Kent was still terrified that each joke he made could be the one that shattered the surface. 

“You seem really happy, Kent.” Jack reached out to pat Kent on the shoulder with a warm hand. “I know we don’t always say this kind of stuff, but I’m really glad we’ve both been able to move on from where we used to be.”

Kent’s stomach dropped rollercoaster fast. After a fraught moment, he managed to reply, “Thanks, man. I feel the same.”

Jack couldn’t ever find out how Kent really felt. He was lucky that Jack was letting him back in at all. It was better to keep smiling, keep Jack happy. And if he knew…

But Jack really did look happy as Kent nudged past him and headed out of the kitchen, ostensibly in search of pie. Instead of heading straight for the dessert table, he took another swig from his cup and surveyed the room, looking for someone, anyone to distract him from the chasm that had opened up in the pit of his stomach.  
It was easy for Kent to throw himself into party-mode and turn on the charm, even with guys he was usually competing against. It felt like he was having the same conversation again and again, anyway. Yes, he was liking Providence. Yes, Jack and Mashkov’s new place seemed great. Add in some trash talking and hockey banter, excuse yourself for a refill, rinse, and repeat. 

The one thing that felt different was being able to turn and catch sight of Eric. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to be lighting up the room with his blond hair and his southern charm. Equally at ease talking to WAGs and hockey players, every conversation he was a part of seemed to dissolve into fits of laughter before too long. 

But more importantly, Kent could tell that it wasn’t the sort of thing where Eric was hogging the limelight or putting on a show; it was just as if Eric were able to see the best in every person he talked to. 

And sometimes, if Kent was lucky, their eyes would meet from across the room, and Eric would give him a grin or a reassuring wink. They really were making it through this fucking party, together. It made it easier, feeling like someone had his back. 

After St. Martin chirped him for being distracted (as he tried to return a funny face Eric had thrown at him from across the room), Kent resolved to stop spending so much time searching for Eric’s face in the crowd. But he couldn’t help but sneak one more glance as he pretended to browse through the snack table. 

And all of a sudden, he spied Eric, being cornered by a wildly-gesticulating Mashkov. His eyes were full of adoration and just a hint of nervous eagerness as he nodded along with whatever story Mashkov was telling. And he definitely wasn’t distracting himself looking for Kent. 

Kent continued to watch the pair from across the room as he took another long pull from his Sprite/vodka monstrosity. He was feeling it hit him earlier than it usually did, likely because he had been too nervous to eat any dinner. Mini-pies do not a meal make. 

The thing is, Kent knew what he looked like. He was aware that he was staring at Mashkov and Eric from across the room like some brooding teenager. But for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. What was it about Mashkov that got under his skin so much?

All of a sudden, Mashkov’s hand landed on Eric’s shoulder, as he bent over to whisper something in Eric’s ear. Eric turned, and this time, Kent felt a shock run through his system as his gaze was caught, as though Eric was begging Kent to read his mind. Kent’s tipsy brain wasn’t much for nuance, but he would have to have been blind to miss the clear ‘bail me out’ vibes that Bitty was putting out. 

Before he realized what he was doing, he had crossed the room, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Hey, what’s up, Eric? This guy bothering you?” Kent forced himself to sound light and jovial. Intercept, distract, escape - it’s a tactic he’s used so many times before, mostly to cut Zimms a breaks when he had had enough of making small talk at boring parties. Kent could talk enough for the both of them. 

But where Kent had expected Eric to relax, relieved to be saved from Mashkov’s over-familiarity, instead, he could feel him tensing up beside him, like a rabbit cornered by a predator. And Mashkov’s annoying grin seemed to have only grown bigger. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Kent - little B and I just talking. I ask who he is dating and he try to tell me he’s not dating anyone.” Mashkov’s eyes flashed. “I say I’m not so sure because there’s little blond across room who carry pies for B. And who disappear with B at big party for who knows why. And who glare at me for patting B on shoulder.”

Now Kent was frozen too. What the hell was this guy thinking? He and Eric were so obviously not a couple - anyone with eyes could see that. 

This was all just some little misunderstanding, though - funny, really. Easy to clear up, easy to laugh off. 

But because there’s no world in which Kent Parson can catch a fucking break, this was the exact moment that Jack decided to make an entrance, handing an icy bottle of beer to the still-grinning Mashkov. 

“Hey, Bitty. Good to see you. Kent and I were just talking about you, actually.” 

Eric kicked into autopilot, a smile still glued to his face. “Only nice things, I hope.” 

Jack grinned. “Well, you know Kenny. He‘s a softie deep down. Sure seems pretty sweet on you, though.”

Eric stared up at Kent, his confusion obvious. But it wasn’t like Kent had any more of an idea what Jack was talking about. I think I said he was a good baker? That he was a good guy?

Mashkov interjected with characteristic exuberance. “Is okay! You are among friends, yes? No need to be so shy.” 

Kent was about to put this whole thing to rest. Honest, he was. But then he saw the hopeful smile on Jack’s face, thinking that Kent had found someone and moved on. And he thought of Eric, already tensed and anxious, preparing himself to put up with pity and reassurance from the one guy he actually wanted to be with. 

Kent knew what it was like to be alone, and have everyone know. 

Well fuck it, never let it be said that Kent didn’t rise to a challenge. Before the rational part of his brain could stop him, he could feel himself throwing an arm around Eric, praying that he’d play along for the next 5 minutes at least. 

“Guess you caught us. Eric and I were trying to keep it on the down low - right, sweetheart?”

There was a tense eternity in the second or two it took Eric to react, but finally he could feel Eric’s body relax into his side, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. 

“Kenny was sure y’all wouldn’t be able to tell, but I told him you two were the nosiest boys I ever met.” Eric gave Kent a playful nudge in the side. “Guess I win the bet, honey. Dishes for a week!”

Boy, he was laying it on a little thick - but as Kent watched Jack and Mashkov’s expressions shift to gleeful triumph, he couldn’t help but respect Eric’s skills. He looked down at the man who was cuddled against him, and their eyes met. To Kent’s surprise, there was a flash of determination in Eric’s eyes that made him think of the ice, of perfect passes, and no-look one-timers. 

If this was the game, they were in it together. And it looked like Eric was playing to win.

Mashkov’s smile was comically wide, delighted to see that his guess had been right. “I tell you, Zimmboni! I can always tell - shows on face!”

“Yeah, you got me.” Jack’s concession was so gentle, so fond. It definitely didn’t make Kent want to jump out of a window. 

“You know, I wasn’t sure I believed it, but seeing how he looks at you, Bitty…” Jack moved to wrap his own arm around Mashkov’s waist. “You two make a good couple.”

Mashov interjected again, with golden retriever levels of excitement. “And now we do double date, yeah? We know great bar - take you both for best drinks in town.”

“Well that sounds just great, Tater. We’d sure love that, wouldn’t we, darlin’?” 

Seems like Eric couldn’t help but say yes to Mashkov. Kent’s arm gripped a little tighter around Eric’s shoulder, more possessive than he expected. 

“Sure would.” Kent had to find them an exit strategy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with the couple-y-ness of it all, especially when they weren’t actually a couple. Not to mention the guilt of lying straight to Jack’s face. 

“Oh, fuck!” Kent patted at his pocket conspicuously and turned to Eric. “Say sweetheart, I think I forgot my phone at your apartment, and you know I was expecting a call. Any chance we could head back and grab it?”

The puck was squarely on Eric’s tape and Kent barely held in a sigh of relief as Eric expertly played the part of the beleaguered boyfriend. “I thought I reminded you to check before we left, silly.” He turned to Mashkov and Jack, rolling his eyes fondly. “What am I gonna do with this boy?”

Mashkov raised his eyebrows salaciously. “Oh yes, of course. You ‘forget your phone’. I see how it is. So cute, young love.”

This was where Eric would balk, Kent was sure. Instead, he felt Eric’s other arm around his waist, embracing him. Followed by the whisper soft touch of a kiss on his cheek. “Well he ain’t in town long. Can’t blame me for wanting to spend a little more time with my man.”

Kent could feel the blush that was sure to be showing on his cheeks grow even hotter as Jack smirked knowingly. “It was good to see you, eh? Be sure to give us a call before you leave town. Despite how… busy you might be.”

Fuck, Kent was more than ready to jump out the window. Someone might as well start digging a Kent-sized grave because he was going to drop dead right here in the middle of this party. 

“Sure, Zimms. It was really great to see you guys. Congrats again on the place and… everything.”

“Hey, all the congratulations should be to you for landing a catch like Bittle.”

Kent could feel Eric squeeze a little tighter, solid beside him. “Yeah... I’m pretty lucky.”

\--

After a breathless couple minutes of goodbyes, Kent heard the satisfying click of the apartment door closing behind him and Eric. Neither one of them seemed to want to break the silence in the hallway, or as the elevator made its way downstairs. 

In fact, it wasn’t until they were outside the building, standing side by side on the sidewalk that Eric spoke.

“Well, we’re just a little bit fucked, aren’t we?”

Kent sighed. “Just a little.”

He watched as Eric nodded resolutely to himself, then made an abrupt about face to start walking down the street. 

Before he could get too far, Kent called after him. “Hey, where are you going?”

It wouldn’t be until later that Kent could admit to himself that Eric Bittle, illuminated by a streetlight, hands on his hips, and ready for battle made his heart pound just a little bit faster than he thought it would. 

“Well you said you needed to go back to my apartment and we’ve still got to figure this mess out.”

When Eric smiled this time, it reached his eyes. 

“You comin’ or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and escaped the second-hand embarrassment mostly unscathed (because I sure didn't). 
> 
> I promise that I do have a plan for this fic, and have the next couple of chapters planned out, so I'll try to continue updating regularly. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave your thoughts, feelz, and constructive criticism in the comments below! I'd love to hear from you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI SO IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HUH???? All I can say is thank you thank you thank you for your patience and mental health is a bitch. I'm doing a lot better and I'm finally out of a shitty workplace and have a great job for the fall. Hopefully I'll be able to get up a few more chapters during the summer! Tbh, I'm also looking forward to seeing what happens next?? WHAT FAKE-DATING SHENANIGANS WILL ENSUE?
> 
> Many thanks as always to @sinbindos, my best friend and erstwhile beta/editor/moral support. Your notes always make me smile and I hope one day I can write stuff half as heart-wrenching as yours. <3

Eric’s apartment was perfectly home-y, just like those aesthetic posts on Instagram that made you want to crawl inside the picture. Unapproachably cozy, with knick knacks and curtains and throw pillows in accent colours. But as Kent looked a little closer, he could still see all the ways it had been lived in - shoes kicked off under the kitchen table, a dirty cereal bowl and a couple of mugs on a table by the couch, an unemptied gym bag in the entryway. There was even a pile of dirty clothes in a corner near the door, like Eric had barely waited to get inside before taking them off. 

Pointedly ignoring the thought of Eric stripping naked in the living room, Kent swallowed. He was feeling charmed and more than a little disarmed by the intimacy of stepping into a space that was so clearly Eric’s. 

Meanwhile, Eric had definitely caught Kent noticing the mess because he almost immediately started ferrying dishes to the sink. 

“If I’d’ve known I was going to have guests over, I woulda tried to make this place a little less Haus-y and a little more home-y,” Eric called over his shoulder. 

But it was a home - so much homier than the interchangeable room he was staying in at the Hilton. How had Kent ended up here, standing awkwardly on Eric’s ‘Welcome Home’ doormat? Why wasn’t he back at his hotel, trying to forget the absolute mortification of Zimm’s housewarming disaster party? Why wasn’t he on the next flight back to Las Vegas, and Swoops, and Kit? 

Regardless of the bizarre series of events that had gotten him here, Kent’s mother hadn’t raised him to be a bad houseguest, so he toed off his shoes at the door and went to grab a couple dirty mugs from the living room. 

While it was small for a studio apartment, the floorplan was surprisingly open and spacious. The living room flowed straight into an airy kitchen, where the sink (and the surrounding counters) was absolutely crammed with dishes. Kent smirked to himself, a little relieved to find that Eric wasn’t quite as perfect as he seemed. 

But that thought turned sour. There was so much about Eric that seemed perfect. He had a great life and great friends.If they couldn’t figure out how to fix the giant problem that Kent had created… well, Eric’s life might not be so perfect anymore. 

How absolutely typical for Kent to ruin every good thing he touches. 

Eric was shifting plates around, in an apparent attempt to clear off some counter space. Without looking up from what he was doing, he called out a chirp at Kent. “You gonna help out with these dishes, sweetheart? I won that bet after all.”

Fuck, this would never work. Better let him down gently. 

Joining him at the kitchen counter, Kent started hesitantly. “Eric, I’m so sorry for getting you into this mess. We can…. if you want I’ll tell the guys that you were just covering for me. This doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

“Kent Parson, you would not be here right now if I didn’t think we could pull this off. It’s fine. It’s not like I don’t have experience with this kind of thing.”

Kent raised an skeptical eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Eric shrugged. “I grew up as a closeted gay kid in Georgia. You think I didn’t act straight and take my fair share of girls to homecoming? The fact that I have a living, breathing gay man to fake-date is an upgrade.”

“But- what if people find out?” Kent levelled Eric with a serious gaze. “What if Mashkov found out?”

“He won’t.”

“But he could! You shouldn’t be jeopardizing your friendships for some asshole you just met!”

Eric stopped scraping food off a plate and placed it on top of a teetering stack. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’d be helping me as much as I’d be helping you?”

Eric said it like it was was so simple, but Kent was sideswept, caught completely off guard. 

“Jack and Tater are good guys, and I love to hang out with them, but…” Eric grimaced. “It’s hard to be the third wheel all the time. I know that they just want me to be happy, but every time Tater asks me if I’m seeing someone or they try to set me up... I just can’t.”

“Eric…”

“If we’re dating, you’re gonna have to start calling me Bitty. Only person who calls me Eric is my mamma. And only when she’s real pissed with me.”

“Just… Bitty?”

“That’ll do for now.” 

It was alarmingly easy to let Eric… Bitty push past all his protestations and take the reins. He found himself staring at Bitty’s tanned hands as they deftly scrubbed the inside of a mug. His movements were practiced and brisk. Kent pictured spending the next week holding those hands. Not because he wanted to, of course - just to keep up the pretense. 

And it was only a week, right? Then he’d be back in Vegas and they could spend the next couple of weeks pretending to do the “long-distance thing” until it became “too much”, and they could have an amiable fake break up. It was a neat plan, and seductively simple. And it’s not like it would suck to hang out with Bitty for the next couple of days - it sure beat tagging along with Jack and Tater solo, or lurking around his hotel room. 

He could have left right then. In all honesty, he probably should have. But instead, he picked up a duck-patterned dish towel and started drying as Bitty washed. 

“So how do we do this?”

“Backstory first.” Bitty started matter-of-factly. “How’d we meet? How’d we get to know each other?”

Kent though back to the party, trying to fact-check himself. The night was still a little hazy and it was only after the brisk walk to Eric’s apartment that he had started to feel sober. 

“I’m pretty sure I told Jack that we just ran into each other - I was trying to avoid the whole ‘I had a panic attack in your hallway’ conversation.”

Bitty huffed out a chuckle as he scrubbed at a pan. “Fair enough. When was the last time you were in Providence? That’s probably our best bet.” He paused. “You were here for the All-Star game, weren’t you?”

Kent resisted the urge to preen about his shooting accuracy win. “Yeah, totally.”

“Perfect. I was live-tweeting some of the games. We ran into each other at a bar one night and got to talking.”

It sounded convenient, but Kent grimaced. “I hung out with Jack a lot that week. Any good reason why I wouldn’t have mentioned that I met you? Or why you wouldn’t have have told them?”

Bitty rolled his eyes, but had a grin tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Haven’t you heard of playing coy, Mr. Parson? We already told those boys we’ve been keeping things on the down-low. I’m pretty sure they won’t dig much deeper.”

Kent added another clean, dry plate to the stack. He was actually starting to see some counter space, and he was getting that satisfied, domestic feeling. The tension he had been holding in his shoulders was unwinding just a little, bit by bit, dish by dish. “So we met at a bar. And I chirped you for making me buy you a fucking rum and coke.”

Bitty snorted. “Nice try. We met at a bar and you were so enraptured by my stunning beauty and charm that you begged to buy me whatever drink I wanted, and I so kindly obliged you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Jack’ll believe that one.”

“I don’t know, Kent… I seem to remember a certain Jack Zimmermann mentioning that you were ‘sweet on me’? Seems like the story lines up.”

Kent could feel heat prickling up the back of his neck, but it felt good; a rush of happy adrenaline. “Okay, well, if I was enraptured one, you’re the one who begged for my phone number because you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“If I fake-begged for your phone number, it was only so I could have access to more pictures of Kit.”

Kent’s grin grew, stretching past the bounds of his measured, presser-perfect smile, crinkling his nose and the corners of his eyes. “So we met at a bar, and I was the one who bought you a drink, and gave you my number, and sent you a million pictures of Kit. What are you bringing to the table?”

Bitty finished rinsing the last glass, giving Kent a gentle hip-check as he moved past to set it on the drying rack next to the sink. “I send you your favourite mini-pies by air mail and give you the silliest pet names I can think of and wake you up with a good-morning text every day. And,” he added, grabbing Kent by the wrist and dragging him towards the couch. “we Skype-watch Terrace House together.”

“What’s Terrace House?”

Bitty had a strong grip; Kent felt a shiver prickle up his spine at the contact that he tried to repress. 

“Sit down, Kent Parson. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

\--

The first thing that Kent was aware of as he woke up was a deeply comforting weight on his chest. His sleep-addled brain insisted that it must be Kit, but it took another second to remember where he was. And more importantly, who he was with. 

Bitty was curled against his chest, breathing slowly and softly. He looked so much younger when he was sleeping, mouth hanging open a little and his brow smooth with unconsciousness. Kent was struck by the length of his lashes and how he could just make out some freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. His skin looked so smooth. 

He didn’t want to touch it or anything. Bitty was objectively okay looking, he could admit it. It wasn’t weird. 

He couldn’t see a clock, but Kent could tell it was early from the thin, pale light pouring through the gaps of Bitty’s lacy curtains. It was still, and quiet, and so entirely different from the night before that Kent worried for a second that he was still asleep. 

They must have fallen asleep in the middle of an episode, because Netflix was paused on that ‘Are you still alive?’ screen that only shows when you’ve binge-watched too many episodes of something. After half a season of Terrace House: Opening New Doors and a bowl of popcorn that Bitty had popped on the stove, they had left the show to play in the background, distracted by trading stories and play-fighting over the best corner of the couch.

Play-fighting, that is, until Bitty had grabbed Kent’s calves with his surprisingly strong grip, pulled Kent’s legs up onto the couch, then planted himself firmly between them. As Bitty leaned back into his chest, Kent could feel himself going still. It had been… a while since someone had touched him with the same casual affection. 

And that’s all it was - a casual, don’t look too deep into it touch. Just guys being dudes, buds being buds.

Kent thought about extricating himself with a clever excuse, but before he could, Bitty had looked up at him with the soft smile he couldn’t quite refuse.

“Think of it as practice.” he murmured, before snuggling closer. 

Despite the crick in his neck and the fact that his left arm was fully numb, Kent could have stayed just like this. Maybe tried to fall asleep again, or just let the cotton-soft peace of the morning linger, muffling his worries and anxieties. But then he felt a vibration from his back pocket that jolted him out of his reverie. Shit. 

As carefully as he could, Kent extricated himself from beneath Bitty, almost immediately missing the warmth pressed against his chest. Luckily Bitty seemed to be a heavy sleeper, and Kent was able to leave him asleep on the couch, covered with a Falconers blanket that had been lying across one of the arm chairs. 

Tiptoeing across the apartment in his sock feet, Kent reached the bathroom and shut the door behind him with a quiet click, before answering his still-vibrating phone. 

“‘lo?”

“Parson, is that you? Where are you? Are you okay? What happened to Mighty Ducks?”

“Swoops? Jesus fuck, what time is it there?”

“4:30, fuck you very much.” Swoops was talking through his teeth like he always did when he was trying real hard not to yell at a ref. “I’ve been a little fucking worried because my best friend, who was in emotional turmoil last night never responded to my THIRTY-TWO TEXTS.”

Couldn’t have been that many, could it? Kent pulled the phone from his ear to check briefly and saw the little red notification circle of doom. Putting the phone back to his ear, he leaned back against the door, sliding down it until his butt hit cool tile. 

“Shit man, I’m so sorry. It’s just - fuck, you won’t believe what happened.”

“Hold up, is there a chance this story ends with me needing to grab a baseball bat and fly to Providence to beat up Zimmermann? Because I can absolutely do that, but if so, I gotta buy a plane ticket real quick.”

“Nah man, no. It’s nothing like that. Jack’s fine. I’m-” Kent thought about it. “I’m fine too. Things just didn’t quite end up like I expected last night.”

What was Kent supposed to say? Was he supposed to keep this from everybody? Even from Swoops? Then again, there’s no real way to say ‘I have a new fake boyfriend and he’s this guy I met last night in the middle of a panic attack about my ex-boyfriend’ without sounding at least a little bit unstable. 

“Kent?”

Fuck, Kent needed a coffee before he could check Instagram in the morning, let alone discuss his myriad life problems and unhealthy coping strategies. This initial adrenaline rush of the surprise phone call was wearing off, and that just left Kent, tired, confused, a little hungover, and sitting on the floor of a bathroom that wasn’t his. 

He took a deep breath and let it spill out. “So I kind of freaked out last night, and there was this guy? Eric Bittle? He works for Falcs PR and knows Jack and Mashkov. And he… helped me. And I’m kind of at his place right now?”

Swoops was quiet for just a second. “Are you okay now? Are you safe?””

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Were you… safe last night?” Swoops had never been strong on subtlety at the best of times and Kent could feel his freaked-out, dad-friend vibes from 3000 miles away. 

“It’s not like that.” Kent blurted. “Only, it kind of is? Mashkov saw the two of us hanging out at the party and… assumed we were dating? And I was drunk and pissed and feeling stupid, I guess, because I just went along with it.”

Kent waited for Swoops to cut in, but he was pointedly quiet on the other end of the phone, waiting for Kent to spill the rest of it. 

Kent hated when he did that. 

“And Bitty, he went along with it too. And now I think I have a fake boyfriend? At least for the next week, because if I have to tell Jack fucking Zimmermann that I pretended to have a boyfriend so I wouldn’t look like I was pining after him at his housewarming party, I’m gonna jump in the Providence River.”

“Well don’t do that.”

“No, I wasn’t gonna. It’s fucking hyperbole, Swoops.”

Swoops’ voice was softer now. “I’m glad you’re okay, first of all. But you have to know that people won’t hate you if you tell ‘em the truth, bud. Jack’s your friend - I’m sure he’d rather you be honest with him, even if it’s hard. If he can’t accept you for you, that’s on him.”

Swoops didn’t get it. He couldn’t. He was so genuinely himself, and people loved him for it - just like that. Kent had to work at it; had to work to cover up all the things that were wrong with him. He had to make it easy for people to love him, because if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be anyone left. 

And things with Jack were still so fragile… Every time Kent thought about telling him the truth, all he could picture was the slamming door, the shuttered eyes, the bottle of pills. 

Kent swallowed the lump in his throat so Swoops wouldn’t hear it in his voice. “Yeah. I get it. But this’ll be fine. This is going to work.” Saying the words out loud made him actually kind of believe them. “Look, man, I’ll be home in a week. Then I’ll be out of Bitty’s hair and Jack won’t be any the wiser. And we can finally watch Mighty Ducks, and it’ll be chill.”

Kent hated talking to Swoops on the phone, hated not being able to read the man’s broad, expressive face. It was so simple to tell what he was thinking in person, but over the phone, the silent pauses stretched into eons for Kent to ponder about whether he’d said the wrong thing. 

“This Bittle - he’s a nice guy?”

“Super nice.”

“And you promise you’re okay?”

Kent unclenched the fist that had been knotted in the hem of his t-shirt. “Yeah, always.”

“Okay, well, congrats on the temporary boyfriend, I guess? Give ‘im the shovel talk for me. And,” Swoops heaved a sigh. “Just fucking remember to call me back next time, okay?”

“Will do.” Kent started as he heard rustling coming from the other side of the door. “Look man, I better run. Bitty’s awake.”

“I love you, man.”

“Yeah, same. Talk to you soon.”

“You better.”

Kent hung up and shoved his phone back in the pocket of the jeans he definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep in. 

Coming out of the bathroom, Kent tried his best to look casual. He pulled his left arm behind his head in a stretch until there was an audible click from his bad shoulder, then ran a hand through what must have been horrendous bedhead. 

Bitty must have woken up earlier than he thought, because he had changed out of his clothes from the night before into sweatpants and a soft-looking t-shirt with a stretched out collar. Kent’s eyes were drawn the nape of Bitty’s neck - he had a freckle right near the collar of his shirt that popped in and out of sight as he shuffled around the kitchen counter.

But then Bitty turned, holding out two steaming mugs. “Hey, sweetheart. I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, but there should be some milk and sugar around here somewhere.”

“Black is fine.” 

A silence stretched between them as they both sipped from their mugs - it wasn’t tense or awkward exactly, but a little as though both of them were waiting for the other one to speak first. Were they going to talk about the fact that they had fallen asleep cuddled up on the couch together? More importantly, were they actually going to follow through with the plan they had come up with, half-drunk, the night before?

All Kent knew was that he wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. He was just fine sipping his coffee, leaning against the fridge with concerted nonchalance. 

Another minute passed in silence, when Bitty suddenly put his mug down with an authoritative clack on counter. 

“You do know I can’t read your mind, don’t you? If you’ve got something to say, you gotta use your words, Kent Parson.”

That definitely wasn’t how he had expected Bitty to start, but despite Kent’s silence he didn’t seem like he was backing down. Instead, Bitty picked up his mug and took a sip, raised his eyebrows, and gave Kent a look that brooked no refusal. 

First Swoops, now Bitty - why was everyone so obsessed with getting Kent to talk about stuff? 

Kent huffed out a sign and tried to sort out his thoughts. “I just… I want to make sure that we’re on the same page, I guess. You could still back out of this if you wanted to.” He felt himself start to flush as he continued. “And you don’t have to do anything… physical if you don’t want to. Like, the cuddling and stuff. Even if we’re trying to fake a relationship.” 

The confident set to Bitty’s shoulders seemed to slump a little, and he had a furrow in his brow that Kent found simultaneously adorable and deeply concerning. “Were you- did I make you uncomfortable last night?”

“No!” Kent blurted, too fast and too loud. “No. It was… I felt…. It was fine. I felt fine. It’s chill. I just wanted to make sure that you were fine with it. Because I was. Fine, that is.”

Nice, Kent. Very smooth. Try and act a little less like a touch-starved weirdo around the perfectly nice guy who’s doing you a huge favour. 

Bitty scratched at his bedhead. “I’ve always been a bit of a hugger. I guess I forget sometimes that there are people that… aren’t. But I still think we came up with a damn good plan, didn’t we? And we’re in it together, right?” His hesitant smile cut right through Kent’s gut. 

There were so many half-formed replies that flew through Kent’s head, and he was about to choose one (he really was), when the theme song for Hockey Night in Canada started to blare from his phone. 

It was Jack. 

“It’s Jack.” Kent said, not quite sure what to do. 

It was too fucking early for this. Trust the new and improved Zimms to be up at the crack of dawn the night after a party. Kent could still remember the days when he would have to drag Jack into a cold shower before they could go downstairs to eat waffles with Bob and Alicia. 

Bitty raised his eyebrows. “You gonna answer that?”

“Yes.” said Kent, not answering the phone. 

“You sure about that?”

“Mostly.”

Bitty shook his head, and before Kent could stop him, reached out and grabbed Kent’s phone from his unmoving palm. Kent watched in slow motion as Bitty swiped to answer and raised the phone to his ear, answering it with a far too cheerful, “Hiya Jack!”

He could hear Jack’s muffled confusion on the other end of the line as Bitty continued to make professionally good small talk. 

“Oh we had such a good time at your party last night! You and Tater really did a great job with the place. You better watch out or I’m gonna get a camera crew in there doin’ a house tour for our social media.”

Jack must have said something funny, because Bitty chuckled as he responded. “Yeah, he did. We barely even made it to the bed last night! He’s up now, but he’s just brushing his teeth.” Bitty paused to give Kent a significant look before saying, “I’m sure he’ll be out in just a second.”

What Kent wouldn’t have given for telepathy at that moment. He settled for opening his eyes as wide as they would go while shaking his head and moving his index finger back and forth across his neck in the universal symbol for ‘cut it out right the fuck now’.

Unfortunately Bitty seemed impervious to Kent’s flawless non-verbal communication skills because he gave Kent an unimpressed stare as he continued to talk to Jack. “Oh, there he is now!” He pulled the phone away from his face a little, and called out as though Kent were on the other side of the room. “Honey! Jack’s on the phone! He wants to talk to you!” 

Fuck. 

But Kent could do this. If he had been able to give a perfect presser after losing a Stanley Cup in the seventh game, he could fucking do this. He turned the corners of his mouth upwards into a grin before picking up the phone because he had read somewhere that you sounded happier on the phone if you were smiling.

“Zimms!”

“Hey, bud. So glad you could come last night. It was great to see you.”

“Yeah, great to see you too. Thanks for having me… us.”

Kent could tell that Jack was smiling with his tiny Jack smirk as he said, “You and Bittle are pretty cute together. But I didn’t know you were such a narcissist - short, blond, athletic, into hockey....” He trailed off. 

“I’m not short.” It was a weak retort and Kent knew it. 

“Sure you’re not.”

“Then it takes one to know one, I guess. It’s not like you and Mashkov couldn’t win a look-alike contest.” There we go. That was more like it. It was good to show that he could joke about Mashkov like they were all actually friends. 

Jack chuckled and Kent felt something in his chest ease. No matter what kind of situation he was in, there was still something reassuring about being able to make his best friend laugh. 

“You know, they always say that opposites attract.” Jack’s voice was soft, all the harsh edges that Kent was used to hearing softened by fondness. “Guess we both needed a little less opposite, eh?”

Kent opened his mouth, desperate to respond with a chirp, a quip, anything. But his throat felt just like that time when he had eaten apple and it started to swell. It was impossible to swallow, much less choke words out. 

Jack didn’t seem to have noticed the awkward pause, but Bitty must have, because he reached out and placed his hand over Kent’s free one. It was only at that touch that Kent realized his hand was white-knuckled, grasping at the edge of Bitty’s Formica countertop. 

Jack barrelled on, oblivious. “Well anyway, I was going to go for a run around Roger Williams Park and I figured that since you were staying at Bittle’s you probably needed the chance to work off some of those mini pies. Can I pick you up in half an hour or so?”

Deep breath. Smile. “Yeah, sure. I’m always down for a run.”

“Great! I’ll see you in a bit. And get ready - I’ve shaved a minute off my 5k P.B.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The kitchen was quiet after Kent hung up the phone. Bitty’s hand was still on top of his and it was the only part of his body that wasn’t crawling. For an instant (just an instant), he flashed back to the deep calm he had felt with Bitty’s weight resting on top of him. Bitty had said that he was a hugger… would it kill him to just reach out and-?

Fuck that. Kent wasn’t allowed to be selfish when Bitty was already doing him such a big favour. He didn’t need to drag Bitty into his shit more than he already had. And it’s not like they were even around anyone - they didn’t need to keep up any facade of a relationship. 

But before Kent could move his hand away and step back to the safer side of the kitchen, Bitty lifted his hand from the counter and laced his fingers through Kent’s. 

Bitty’s voice was quiet, maybe even hesitant. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have picked up the phone, should I?”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s probably good that you did - makes the whole thing seem more real, right?” Kent’s heart had been racing jack-rabbit fast while talking with Jack, but he could feel it slowing, his breath coming more easily. 

“So we’re really doing this?”

Kent squeezed Bitty’s hand, just once. “It’s only a week, right?”

“It’s only a week.” Bitty took a step closer towards Kent. When Kent looked up to meet his gaze, he noticed that Bitty wasn’t really all that much shorter than him. 

“Guess we’re in this together, Bits.”

Bitty’s eyes sparkled as his grinned, but Kent would never tell him that. 

“Bits, huh? I think that could work.”


End file.
